


A Belle To Remember

by monanotlisa



Category: Killjoys (TV)
Genre: Cliche, F/M, Fake Marriage, Light-Hearted, Mission Fic, Spies & Secret Agents, Tropes, Undercover as Married, Undercover as a Couple
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-11
Updated: 2018-04-11
Packaged: 2019-04-21 11:37:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,793
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14284098
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/monanotlisa/pseuds/monanotlisa
Summary: Sometimes they find the mission, and sometimes the mission finds them.





	A Belle To Remember

**Author's Note:**

  * For [shopfront](https://archiveofourown.org/users/shopfront/gifts).



> Set in _Killjoys_ Season One.

 

Johnny looks at Dutch. 

Dutch looks at Johnny. 

D’avin lets Turin in to the spaceship. Turin is wearing Scarback clothes and overcoat, complete with the hood obscuring his face. If it weren’t for Lucy’s helpful identification, Team Awesome Force would've had a hard time knowing who exactly was skulking around the ship. All D’avin says, almost managing not to smile, is: “We didn't expect your sacred visit at this hour, Uncle.” 

Turin glares at D’avin in thanks. Par for the course. “Do I look like I’m here in my official capacity, numbskull?”

“Nope,” Dutch answers, coming forward. "You look like the kind of person who comes to a cloak-and-dagger meeting near midnight with an _actual_ cloak and dagger. So. What’s up?”

“Can your RAC superior at least have the fucking seal closed behind him before he spills the beans?” Turin supplies, helpful as ever.

Johnny lets his teeth show. “Lucy, would you be so kind as to make sure we and our...guest can be discrete?"

ALL CLOSED AND NO RECORDINGS, JOHNNY, Lucy answers helpfully. MY LOGS AND CAMERAS WILL SHOW THE SYSTEM ON THE, AS YOU SAY, ‘FRITZ’, FOR TEN MINUTES, INCLUDING THIS ARRIVAL AND CONVERSATION.

“I’m counting on you,” he murmurs, and sees the computer screen to the left of Dutch blink, quickly, FUNNY; I THOUGHT I WAS THE ONE COUNTING. Spaceships. Always gotta have the last word. At least as long as Johnny was the one improving their programming. Why bother with sentient AIs if you don’t make them just as smartass as you? All it takes is the removal of a few protocols, and maybe the addition of some others. 

He focuses back on Turin and Dutch, who are engaged in their usual staring match. D’avin looks as if he would like to run and get the popcorn, and Johnny, for a second, remembers the boy D'av was. But of course he ends up being the good soldier and just rocks back on his heels, falling into an attentive posture. Polite and bland, but with enough coiled strength to signal this is serious business. 

“Fine,” Turin spits out. “I need you on this warrant. Level Three.”

Johnny catches a flicker of surprise in Dutch’s eyes. “What’s so special about this one?”

“The Q'reshi lady we need brought to peace, justice, and the Corporate way is not in the Quad.”

D’avin next to him frowns, clearly remembering the old-school, actual-paper handbook they made him go over before he joined the RAC, and Johnny’s sure his own face shows what he’s thinking. Which is exactly what Dutch is saying next:

“We have no jurisdiction outside the Quad.”

Turin scoffs audibly and points at his outfit in a slow gesture, as if showing his attire to a child. To be fair, they did just go over this.

Johnny scratches his beard. Dutch looks intrigued enough that he dares asking, “Say we did this, and I’m not saying we do; can we get some assurances?”

They can get some assurances, it turns out. (Pre-payment of credits, too, which is _way_ better.)

 

Johnny regrets their decision only a little when Lucy lands on Glei. It's their final destination within Luyten's System, and it’s been a little rough, as interstellar rides go. “Sorry, girl.”

NOTHING I COULDN’T HANDLE. 

True, that. But running the RAC’s errands was not why Johnny had modded Lucy in the first place. The reason was more along the lines of running _from_ the RAC, after all. Turin knowing the ship's capacities doesn't sit well with Johnny. But as ever --

“Time’s of the essence. Let’s get ready, Johnny.” Dutch manages to make it sound flirtatious, which gives Johnny’s heart just the mildest, really, of pangs. 

He’d like to say he’s as ready as he’ll ever be, but that would be a fucking lie. Johnny looks like the nerd mechanic he is: all oil stains and sewn-on patches. Nothing like who he needs to be. 

In his quarters, he gets undressed and has Lucy help him with suggestions for their newly-printed clothing along the lines of the schematics Turin provided on his -- very unofficial -- business. Out in the common room, Johnny bows. “Margrave Aimon, at your service.”

D’av, ever the older brother, laughs. Presumably he is laughing at Johnny's dark-blue trousers, the skin-tight silver tunic with wide lapels, and the likewise navy robe flowing across his shoulders. Johnny likes the feeling of all the silk on his skin, even if he doesn’t look like Mr. Muscle over there thinks Seiyteran noblemen should come across in their traditional garb. 

Dutch doesn’t say anything, although she’s looking at him intently. Johnny takes in her own -- matching, natch -- outfit. The cool colors make the warmth of her skin tone pop, and of course she looks stunning in blue and silver. But then, he can’t recall an outfit she didn’t look great in. Even that torn, bloody wedding dress...no, no thinking of that, not now. 

He clears his throat. “Dutch?”

“Right.” She presses her lips together, then opens her mouth again (she has put on some pink lipstick, glossy and probably sweet). “That’ll do.”

“Margravine Kel,” D’avin intones pompously, “at your service.” He seems amused and maybe a little glad to not be in Johnny’s shoes. “Your highness...es, please make sure that both the comms and the hidden cameras are on at all times.”

Make that _a lot_ glad.

 

"Is this a yellow brick road?" Johnny stubs his slippered toe at the shimmering stone under his feet. He feels a grin spread over his face. "If you see a girl with a dog, a scarecrow, and a lion, give me a heads-up, Dutch!"

She looks at him blankly, but then purses her lips. "One of your comics storylines -- Commander Cool?"

"Pfft; that was just a re-telling," Johnny tells her haughtily. "The original is ancient lore from Earth." It's one of the areas where he's much more well-versed, literally, than Dutch. She knows their world in and out. Her upbringing saw to that. Half the time, when she talks of growing up, Johnny sees deserts and tents in his mind's eye, sharp knives and even sharper eyes. But the other half he is reminded of her less violent lessons, stringent and not at all like the village school he and D'avin attended, when they could and would. So far Johnny has kept track of Dutch playing three musical instruments; speaking four languages; having a working knowledge of ten star systems' geography; moving fluidly in five of their cultures. Even this one isn't entirely new to her: Glei is located in the same system as Seiyter, and Dutch had to think about it only for a moment, chat with Lucy another five minutes. 

"I guess one day your Earth tales will be useful," Dutch says, "not to put too fine a point on it." 

Johnny sighs. She is the best thing that ever happened to him, it's true, but it's hard to make her understand he's not listening to ancient recordings or sifting through thin, water-damaged comics to _use_ their stories. They're just that: stories

Whereas this is real. He looks behind him, where Lucy is hidden safely in an orchard of fruit trees that are clustered enough to allow her to land near the fortress, if not next to it. Their little path through the greenery was bucolic enough to make him think of some purely agrarian societies -- right up to the Wizard of Oz road here, which is tightly tiled and heavily used; he can see faint tracks of vehicles and, maybe a hundred meters next to them, humming silver rails. When he looks further ahead, he sees not only the white fortress in the distance. He also the gleam of metal coming closer, closer -- and past; the whoosh of air makes him step back even if the noise level remains low. He stares after the oblong vehicle, which is rapidly becoming a point in the distance. "Nice," he says, and can't quite keep the breathlessness out of his voice. 

When he looks back at Dutch, she's smiling. "I like them too -- forgot what the Gleii call those little family-style electric coaches. No offense to Lucy, but there's something to be said for efficient ground transportation." 

"No argument from me," Johnny says. He thinks of all the times they crawled, rode, or otherwise struggled along the Quad's planetary surfaces on a wild, wild warrant. "I guess we follow this this road to its destination and hope for the best that Lady Enache hasn't moved on."

Dutch raises an eyebrow at him. "Have we ever met a Q'reshi who would miss a luxurious party for and by the rulers of the land?"

There is, admittedly, that.

 

Passing the wide arches leading into the courtyard, Johnny barely spares a glance at their intricate carvings of guardian creatures that look somewhat like sea lions, if sea lions had wings. He’s too focused on Dutch’s hand in his. Her grip is tight, of course, and her fingers are surprisingly warm. _Well, duh; she’s hot_ , he thinks, and wishes not for the first time he had some actual wit to speak of.

Their names are announced through a trumpet that sounds like bells when they walk down the purple not-quite-carpet. It feels a little like rubber underneath the soft leather of his slippers, but the surface is smooth and glistens like glass in the bright light. This planets’ twin suns illuminate every inch of the festivities and, couple with the white walls, are bright enough to require eye protection on his part.

He adjusts his snazzy sunglasses. He wonders why they are still called that, when they are not really glass and haven't been for centuries. _Self-adjusting UV-corrective polymers_ doesn't exactly roll off the tongue, though. 

Optically safeguarded, Johnny sneaks a glance at Dutch. She’s focused, as ever, dark eyes scanning the crowd for Lady Enache. On her temples there’s not even a shimmer of the sweat Johnny can feel on his own. Figures. He has to concentrate to not make a fool of himself here on Glei, while she’s every inch -- not that there’s many, objectively -- the queen she was born to be. “Hey,” he whispers through the side of his mouth. “Do you think the RAC hacked into the computer system that distributed them, or that there really was an invitation sent out to this married couple that they got their black-gloved hands on?”

At first, he wonders whether she hasn’t heard him, but a twitch of her fingers tells him she has, and well. “More likely the latter. And, deep breath.”

Deep -- what?

“Margravine, Margrave!” The elderly gentlewoman sidling up to them sounds enthusiastic, and not even as if she has to fake it. “I have heard of your great success! Allow me to introduce myself; I’m Prince-Electress Neya. Your last tome on the secrets of _merr_ husbandry has revolutionized my court.” She’s tall and wide-shouldered and must have once been fierce-looking. Around her neck, she wears the metal pendants that all Gleii have: electronic transponders for medium distances that manage to look like jewelry. Hers is especially ornate, signaling her status. 

She’s beautiful still, Johnny thinks, with the crinkles of laugh lines around her eyes and her hair streaked liberally with silver. He smiles at her and speaks before he can help himself. “Thank you, Prince-Electress Neya. Those _merr_. I’m glad we, uh, got to contribute to society through them.”

Neya looks him up and down, and the spark in her eyes still looks like appreciation, only now it’s more directly aimed at...him. Hah. _Sucks to be you, D’avin._ Neya’s teeth are white, a perfect contrast to her face. “Oh, you very much did.” She bows her head to Dutch, and whatever she sees there makes her dim a little. “Both of you. Yes, I’ve read the foreword; I’m that kind of bookish lady, I suppose.” 

When Dutch answers, her voice is soft and almost, almost as silky as Johnny’s robes. “And my husband and I greatly appreciate your patronage. It is not often that agronomics come up in conversation, to our secret chagrin.”

It must have been the right thing to say, because the prince-electress visibly relaxes, although she steals another careful glance at Johnny. “I can imagine. Well, I hope you are enjoying the reception as much as I am, even with more small-talk at the other tables.”

“We are, indeed.” Dutch leans forward, and she drops another decibel or so. “Prince-Electress, we have been wondering, though -- isn’t it peculiar that there is a stranger in our midst?”

Neya purses her lips. “A stranger? Not from the System?” She lets her gaze sweep across the courtyard...effectively covering the area Dutch and Johnny could not yet see. “The only person not known to me from my correspondences and communications is, I think, that elder triad over in the corner, envoys of an Allodial Barony in the Outer Rim. And, now that you mention it, the young lady over there.”

“Mmh,” Dutch says, turning on her heel and taking a slim, winding glass of a sparkling drink almost as purple as the not-carpet from the tray of a waiter hurrying by. “I do like her dress.”

“It is rather --” Neya smiles, and this time it is not as enthusiastic, “green, isn’t it? Lovely on her though. And though she might be a stranger, I'm sure she's quite agreeable.”

“Oh,” Dutch nods, “I’m sure she is.”

 

She isn't. 

If he were being chased on a RAC warrant through a fortress decked out in all the colors of the rainbow before being held down, gagged, and knocked out via tranquilizer dart in one of its highest spires… Johnny supposes he wouldn’t be very agreeable, either. 

Now, at least, both of them are sweaty and panting. Dutch’s previously perfect braid is in disarray, and Johnny known he has some facial scratches, thankfully hidden by his facial hair. But they got their woman.

Dutch speaks into the comms. “D’avin?” She listens for a moment, face taut. “Yes. Acquired and transportable. We'll meet you out at Back Portal number --” she looks at Johnny.

It takes one click, three swipes, and a blink for Johnny to consult the fortress floor plan they themselves had marked up. “Number 26 is closest.” 

After relaying it, Dutch confirms D’avin’s ETA. Over and out and...off? Johnny stares at Dutch disabling the comm and camera. But he’s worked with her long enough to know that if she’s doing something like that, he needs to be following her lead. 

He, too, switches his tech off. Takes the sunglasses off, while he's at it; the hallway is shadowed enough. “What is it?”

Dutch shrugs. “Nothing. He will be here in an hour.” At his widened eyes, she smirks. “No worries, the sedative will work for at least three hours. And as we established, it is not as if anybody will miss her. We can just lock the door behind us with Lady Enache inside, keep an eye on the staircase, and enjoy the moment.”

“Okay.” Johnny is, in fact, enjoying the moment. Now that the adrenaline is wearing off, he feels soft, almost floaty. It’s hard to tear his eyes away from Dutch in the late afternoon light slanting in through the glass window so polished it doesn’t even seem to exist. Here in the tower high up above the courtyard, even the loudest voices are dimmed, and all he can hear is the faint hum of the music, their pentatonic melodies drifting upward. “Do you want to sit down?” He holds out a hand to her and, again, is almost-startled at the readiness with which she takes it.

“Thanks,” she murmurs, and they both sink down onto the landing. Dutch nudges the door shut and turns the surprisingly old-fashioned key, the fingers of her other hand still curled around Johnny’s. “How are you doing?”

He’s good, and tells her so.

She seems to think about this for a moment, looking at him frankly but with a flush on her face. It's faint and could be from the chase, of course. Could be. “Do you feel you could be doing better?”

“There’s always a _better_ ,” he says, and he wants to be cautious, keep the invisible but unbroachable lines around them clear and drawn. But he is warm and drowsy on a faraway peaceful planet with Dutch, and all they've got to do is wait, together. It's definitely getting warmer in here. His heartbeat speeds up a little. “Do you have one in mind?”

Dutch smiles, just before leaning in to kiss him. Her lipstick is sweet, as Johnny has suspected. But it’s absolutely no comparison to the feeling in his chest.

“I do,” she says.

 

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to the ever-helpful Kayim for trusty beta-work. All remaining mistakes and oddities are mine.


End file.
